


Phantom

by sciencefictioness



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Amputation, Blood and Gore, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Drug Use, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Parent/Child Incest, Sibling Incest, Unhappy Ending, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-11 18:15:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21225899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sciencefictioness/pseuds/sciencefictioness
Summary: They talk in whispers pressed together in the dark, all ragged inhales and bitten off little whimpers.  The castle is so quiet this late at night that every noise feels like a sacrilege.As if what they’re doing isn’t blasphemous enough.  They’re sweating and breathless, swollen lips and shaking fingers; the sheets are tangled around them.Genji is tangled around Hanzo.He’s nestled up between Hanzo’s thighs, rocking into him in slow movements— grinding when he’s seated deep, covering Hanzo’s mouth with his palm to muffle sounds he makes.  The sounds he always makes when there is too much of Genji and he wants every bit of him anyway.  Wants more, because Genji doesn’t hurt like everything else.Because Genji is there to soothe away the sting,oh, Hanzo, come here, I’ve got you—Genji brushes messy black strands out of Hanzo’s face.  His mouth is wet from Genji’s kisses. His cheeks are damp with tears.  His eye is black from Sojiro’s fist; Genji doesn’t need light to see Hanzo.Genji knows Hanzo by heart.





	Phantom

**Author's Note:**

  * For [besselfcn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/besselfcn/gifts).

> Mind the tags my friends. Written for the darkwatch gift exchange, Lee please enjoy!

They talk in whispers pressed together in the dark, all ragged inhales and bitten off little whimpers. The castle is so quiet this late at night that every noise feels like a sacrilege.

As if what they’re doing isn’t blasphemous enough. They’re sweating and breathless, swollen lips and shaking fingers; the sheets are tangled around them.

Genji is tangled around Hanzo.

He’s nestled up between Hanzo’s thighs, rocking into him in slow movements— grinding when he’s seated deep, covering Hanzo’s mouth with his palm to muffle sounds he makes.

The sounds he always makes when there is too much of Genji and he wants every bit of him anyway. Wants more, because Genji doesn’t hurt like everything else. 

Because Genji is there to soothe away the sting,  _ oh, Hanzo, come here, I’ve got you—  _

Genji brushes messy black strands out of Hanzo’s face. His mouth is wet from Genji’s kisses. His cheeks are damp with tears. His eye is black from Sojiro’s fist; Genji doesn’t need light to see Hanzo. 

Genji knows Hanzo by heart.

He buries himself in Hanzo and falls apart, both of them shivery, come smeared wet across Hanzo’s stomach. Slick between his thighs. Some of it is Genji’s.

Some of it is not.

“Run with me, anija. The next time father sends us out on a job together we can disappear, just keep going. If we can make it out of Japan we can—”

Hanzo breathes out hard enough that it must hurt his lungs. He hides his face in Genji’s throat. Fists his hands in Genji’s clothes. 

“Genji,  _ no.  _ We can’t.” Hanzo says. Waits. They’ve had this argument enough times before that he knows what’s coming. 

“We can. You  _ won’t,” _ Genji says, hating the way it feels, how Hanzo shrinks beneath him. He shoves his face into Hanzo’s hair, jaw clenched in frustration, teeth bared. Sometimes he wants to shake him but Genji never does.

Hanzo is shaken enough all on his own.

“He’d find us,” Hanzo says, voice hollow with resignation. “He’d never let us go.”

Hanzo doesn’t say what he really means. Sojiro might go after him, might try to reclaim his heir. 

Genji could vanish in the night and it would be days before anyone noticed. Hanzo has told him to go before,  _ you can make it, Genji, please.  _ As if he would go without Hanzo.

As if he would leave him behind.

“We don’t know if we never try. Just think about it. Please, anija.”

Hanzo doesn’t answer, but Genji knows he’ll think about it. 

It’s impossible not to dream of being anywhere else but there.

-

Home is a knife at his throat.

Home is everything he could ever need except air to breathe, the clan pressing him down into a box his father has fashioned for him, cracking his bones so he’ll fit when Genji has already outgrown it. He is too small. He is too big.

Genji isn’t shaped correctly to be his father’s left hand, or to be Hanzo’s right. Genji is jagged where he needs to be smooth, and smooth where he needs to be jagged. 

Genji is a thousand different things, and all of them are wrong.

Home is the warm, dark place under Hanzo’s blankets, running his hands over the bruises their father left behind. Fingerprints on his hips.

Teeth on the inside of his thighs. 

Hanzo is always bleeding, always broken, always sore. Genji murmurs words into the curve of Hanzo’s throat, into the smooth skin between his shoulder blades, clinging to him with a desperation that has been planted into him and steeped like tea leaves.

Genji boils, and darkens. Grows bitter and acidic.

Hanzo drinks him in anyway. 

Hanzo loves Genji, however he tastes.

“I’ve hidden some money and supplies away. We’ll be going after the oyabun of the Hirata clan soon, father’s patience with him won’t last much longer. We can kill him, and then we can go together.”

Hanzo curls in on himself until there is even less of him, stretched taut and ready to break.

“Genji, please. Don’t do this now.”

Genji lays down on top of Hanzo. Presses him down so there is nowhere he can go, nothing he can do.

No one he can be but Genji’s.

“Tell me  _ when,  _ Hanzo. If not now, then when?”

Hanzo doesn’t know. Doesn’t answer. 

Genji boils darker.

Stronger.

-

His head lolls in Genji’s hands, blood pouring out of his mouth, eyes rolled up unseeing. For an impossible moment Genji is sure he is dead. He tastes ozone. His skin crawls.

Sojiro walks out of the temple, wiping Hanzo’s blood off the back of his knuckles with a silk handkerchief one of the servants offers him, lurid red on pristine white. He doesn’t look back. The doctors are nowhere to be seen. They only go where Sojiro tells them to, only do what he commands. 

Genji imagines his thumbs buried in Sojiro’s eye sockets. Imagines sinking his teeth into the skin of Sojiro’s throat, pulling meat free in a spray of red. 

Hanzo pulls in a shuddery breath, wheezy like it’s hard to get air. He chokes and sputters and Genji sits him up, lets Hanzo lean against him until he’s sure he’s not going to gag again. He carries Hanzo to the medical suite himself and picks the lock where all the biotics are kept. Field emitters, gel, injectables, pills. They’re forbidden from using them without Sojiro’s permission.

Genji will pay for this tomorrow; Sojiro’s fury. A pound of flesh.

He pops the field and watches Hanzo go heavy lidded, feels him sag in his arms, pupils dilated and eyes glassy as the glow of biotics really takes hold. Genji wipes at his chin, tucks hair behind his ears; the strands are tacky and stiff with gore.

“You’re okay. It’s okay.”

He isn’t. It isn’t. Hanzo blinks slow and tucks his face into Genji’s chest.

“I’ll go with you,” he slurs, voice thick with the influence of the field. He’s drugged and hurt but it doesn’t matter. 

For better or worse, Hanzo keeps his word.

-

They slip into the Hirata house like thieves in the night. Like shadows.

Like assassins.

They only have one target but two of the guards get in their way and have to be cut down. Not a lot of collateral damage all things considered.

They slit Hirata Hayato’s throat and vanish without a trace. Neither one of them suggests fleeing before the job is done. If they’ve done as they’re asked it will give them a better chance; Sojiro will assume they are being cautious rather than rebellious. Biding their time before they come home, when they have done the opposite. 

Waited, and waited, until it felt safe to run.

They pick their way to the coast in a circuitous route even if it feels like no one is after them. Genji sleeps easy with Hanzo in his arms no matter where they go; on rooftops and in alleyways, bone tired in the cold. They rent hotels every now and then, fake names and money the clan can’t track. 

They shower together, Genji caging Hanzo into the tile and kissing him until they’re both aching with it.

Genji fucks Hanzo with an urgency he can’t explain— takes, and takes, and takes. It feels finite, like something that is burning away in his hands to inevitably leave Genji cold. The starched unfamiliar sheets are tangled around them both.

Genji is tangled around Hanzo. He is soft and smiling and pliant like Genji has never seen him.

Sojiro finds them there, naked and sleep-warm and wrapped up like there is nothing that can part them. When he sees them together something terrifying passes his over his face.

He is angry that they ran, but he is angrier to see Genji taking something that he thought was only his. Hanzo fights like an animal that’s been cornered, but Genji can only stare. Everything. Everything.

Sojiro always takes everything from them, and Genji is left with nothing.

Not even himself.

-

They pin Hanzo down naked in the temple, face against the wood, hands clenched into fists. Genji is on his knees a few feet away, guards holding him there with his hands bound behind his back. They bind their tattoos in salt and ropes until Genji’s dragon is nothing but an echo, so far away he can barely feel her. Genji feels like his skin has been peeled away, ribs cracked open to let the whole world see his heart beating.

He has done this before— been made to watch. Made to listen. Been brought to the temple, Hanzo looking at him with eyes that haunt his dreams, except it’s different this time.

The doctors are lurking at the edges of the room with a gurney hovering between them, supplies on a cart nearby that make Genji’s mouth go dry.

He doesn’t know what will happen, but he knows it is his fault.

Sojiro draws his katana, running the tip of it from the swell of Hanzo’s ass down to the soles of his feet, holding Genji’s gaze all the while.

“I know this was you,” he says, shifting his sword to Hanzo’s other foot, trailing the sharp edge up again. “I want you to remember this when you think there is a life for you outside of these walls. Outside of this family. You cannot run from your birthright.” Sojiro raises his weapon, and Genji tenses, dragon nothing but a ghost and jaw clenched until it’s a riot of bright hot agony. “You did this to him. Don’t forget.”

Genji knows already. The weight settles on his shoulders, sinks into his bones. There is an inevitability to it that Genji can feel in his chest.

He will be carrying this until they put his ashes in the ground.

Sojiro’s blade falls— elegant even in this— to sever both of Hanzo’s legs at the knee. Hanzo screams. Genji screams.

Genji doesn’t know who is louder. 

Hanzo’s jaw shakes, terror swallowing him and eyes strobing blue like a light that’s shorting out in its socket. He’s never looked so afraid, not even with a knife in his guts or a bullet in his chest. The blow was clean, but there’s no truly clean way to cleave through flesh and bone. Hanzo’s thighs end in a tangle of flesh; tears track down his cheeks, fingers trembling, teeth bared against the pain. The glow of his tattoos flicker, like his dragons are trying and failing to break free. Blood pools under him, crimson and impossible.

Genji’s never seen so much of it from someone who wasn’t dying. The doctors close in with tourniquets and biotics and IVs. Hanzo isn’t screaming anymore when they load him onto the gurney and rush out of the temple. He’s gone quiet, gone still. They take him away, again. Everything. 

Always.

They leave his legs behind. Realization swells icy in Genji, static roaring in his ears and mouth full of knives. They could put him back together.

They could fix him, but they won’t.

Genji thrashes against the guards holding him, pulling out of their grip for a moment only to feel the sting of a needle in his throat, something cold and thick pumped into him all at once. A familiar heaviness takes hold of him with a few traitorous beats of his heart— it’s something Sojiro has given him before. Something he will endure again.

Something Hanzo doesn’t need anymore, ever the obedient son. Docile even without poison in his veins, going wherever Sojiro puts him. On a job. On his knees.

On his back with his thighs wide. 

_ Yes, father. _

_ I’m sorry, father. _

Except when he came to bring him home, and Hanzo fought like something feral. Like something possessed. Like he’d rather die than let Sojiro take him. 

Genji keens.

He falls to the ground with a thud, listening to the guards’ footsteps fade away as they follow Sojiro from the temple. Genji crawls forward on drunken limbs, dragging himself across the floor, slipping in Hanzo’s blood. He gets his fingers around one of Hanzo’s ankles— the skin is still warm under his palm. 

If he could pick them up and bring them to the doctors they could make Hanzo whole again. If he could stand. If he could call his dragons.

If he could do anything except lie on the floor, pieces of Hanzo in his hands, the rest of him far away.

It is different this time.

It is the same as always.

Genji drifts to sleep and wonders if Hanzo is dead.

-

Genji is still in the temple when he wakes. He’s barely there, drugs clinging like syrup. Hanzo’s blood is sticky around him, dry and rusty up and down his hands, his arms, his clothes. His hair is matted against his face. 

Hanzo’s legs are still there, Genji’s fingers like a vise around a disembodied ankle. They’re cold, now. Inhuman.

Genji thinks of Hanzo’s heels against his back, his toes curling in their sheets. Hanzo lifted up on the balls of his feet, fingers in Genji’s hair, tugging him down. Thinks of hooking his hands under Hanzo’s knees, and pressing into the wall, and— 

He sits up and pulls Hanzo’s other leg to him, both of them in his lap as he weaves in place. Genji stares at them; Hanzo’s high arches. The scar on his right calf. Hanzo had turned into something savage and bestial when Sojiro showed up in their hotel room to tear them apart. 

Genji wonders if he will keep fighting.

Wonders if it will be easier for Sojiro to pin Hanzo down like this; face shoved into his futon, no leverage, no way to run.

No legs to stand on.

Genji looks around with a manic sort of desperation, as though there will be someone nearby to tell him everything is okay, it’s all a dream, wake up, Genji.

Wake up.

Genji feels forlorn.

Genji feels insane.

Genji lays back down on the floor and closes his eyes.

-

Hanzo is sleeping when Genji slips into the medical suite, legs tucked away under starched white sheets, an IV pumping fluids into his arm. He’s pale with dark shadows under his eyes, hair tangled and wild on his pillow. Genji wants to shake him.

Genji lets him sleep.

He doesn’t know what they’ve done with his legs— buried them, burned them. Threw them away like trash. The servants spent hours scrubbing the floors in the temple, erasing every trace of Hanzo with chemicals and hard light and fresh coats of stain. 

It’s what Sojiro has done to the rest of Hanzo, except with pain and brutality and duty that sits like a chain around his neck.

When Hanzo wakes up he won’t look at Genji. He stares at the wall, at his hands. 

_ Go, Genji. Please. _

Hanzo is so far away that it hurts Genji to be near him.

He squeezes Hanzo’s hand, and kisses his knuckles, and goes.

Hanzo never looks at him again.

-

Sojiro keeps Genji busy enough in the weeks after he cuts Hanzo to pieces that Genji wonders if he’s trying to kill him, too. He takes out rival lieutenants and executes disagreeable businessman. Uncooperative politicians, dealers that don’t respect the Shimada clan’s claim to their territory.

He comes back to the castle limping, trailing blood and wearing bruises.

_ Be better,  _ Sojiro says.

_ Be faster. _

_ Be stronger. _

Genji is the best they have but there is only so much he can do without Hanzo by his side.

They give Hanzo prosthetics that look more like armor than limbs and teach him to walk again, teach him to fight. It comes back faster than Genji expects— the Shimada clan spares no expense on their heir. Hanzo learns to use them like weapons, forgets what it was once like to have flesh and bone and skin there instead of metal.

He doesn’t look at Genji anymore. He looks above him, just to the left of Genji’s face,  _ what do you need, Genji? _

_ I have work to do. _

Genji thinks he needs time, that things will get better, but they only get worse. He crawls into Hanzo’s futon one night after months of distance, drunk and desperate and pawing at Hanzo with shaking hands.

_ I’m sorry, anija, please. I know it’s my fault, okay? I know.  _

Hanzo turns away.

_ Go back to bed, Genji. It’s late. _

Genji goes to bed and breaks apart, sobbing loud and frantic into his hands. He waited too long. He didn’t wait long enough. He is too big. He is too small.

Genji is a thousand things and all of them are wrong.

He sleeps until late afternoon, then throws on his worst clothes and heads out to the club. 

Genji doesn’t feel like dancing, but he can fix that. A handful of pills, a few hundred thousand yen worth of powder, and he doesn’t feel anything at all.

-

_ This is what it feels like,  _ Genji thinks, head lolling as he tries to follow Hanzo’s movement across the temple. It’s hard from the floor. Hard when he’s bleeding out, arm severed and jaw hanging loose and  _ anija, stop, please.  _ Genji makes guttural noises, throat gurgling and lungs wet, every sound like a sacrilege in the quiet of the temple.

As if they aren’t blasphemous enough already. 

As if there is anyone for miles who isn’t monstrous.

He tries to pull himself across the floor to Hanzo, even now. To what remains of Hanzo. To what Sojiro left behind.

There isn’t enough of Genji to get to him.

He doesn’t look at Genji.

He doesn’t look at anything.

Hanzo puts his sword down and never picks it up again.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Tell me nice things friends.


End file.
